The 26th Hunger Games
by SheerwaterPhoenix
Summary: Twenty-four tributes. One victor. Ladies and gentlemen, let the Twenty-sixth Annual Hunger Games begin! SYOT CLOSED
1. Tribute Form

**Help! I need SYOT tributes, I'm going to write and SYOT THG story for the first time. Here is the form:**

**Name:**

**Age:**

**Gender:**

**District:**

**Personality:**

**History:**

**Appearance:**

**Open to alliances:**

**How serious about alliances:**

**Strengths/Skills:**

**Weaknesses:**

**Estimated training score(will maybe change):**

**What he/she does for the private session in training:**

**Reaped/Volunteered:**

**Reaction to being reaped/volunteering:**

**Arena plan:**

**Preferred death/ranking:**

**OPTIONAL:**

**Token:**

**Reaping outfit suggestion:**

**Chariot costume suggestion:**

**Interview outfit suggestion:**

**Please help, and only send the SYOTs via PM.**

**Thank you!**


	2. Tribute List

**D1 female: Ravenna Baker-Carson - Rosemarie Benson**

**D1 male: Calix Blush - Epicness by Liv**

**D2 female: Olivia 'Violent' Viont - Epicness by Liv**

**D2 male: Julius Roth - willowbrookroad**

**D3 female: Korina Carstairs - Korina Carstairs**

**D3 male: Zachary Flint - lifeinthemacro**

**D4 female: Celiese Pike - mystic47**

**D4 male: Masen Baxhaven - kylegrav**

**D5 female: Deanna Alberts - willowbrookroad**

**D5 male: Joel Hanrads - Jacob Yew**

**D6 female: Angelica Waters - Malin**

**D6 male: Zayn Liken - Epicness by Liv**

**D7 female: Yeww Zode - Epicness by Liv**

**D7 male: Joseph Escalier - Frank Dupont**

**D8 female: Alicia Wood - Sasha**

**D8 male: Patch Suee - Epicness by Liv**

**D9 female: Erin Arber - Maxine**

**D9 male: Theo Trate - Epicness by Liv**

**D10 female: Faye Kingston - willowbrookroad**

**D10 male: Ingus Beef - Epicness by Liv**

**D11 female: Rosie Appleton - smileygirl26**

**D11 male: Nathan Howler - Kristy Lee**

**D12 female: Lottie Rose - Imetc**

**D12 male: Woodrow Brockhurst - Epicness by Liv**


	3. District One Reaping

**I know that I said that I wouldn't write this story until I finished TKTSTF, but I can't think of anything to write for TKTSTF (suggestions are more than welcome!). Also, I just felt the need to write this story.**

**Calix Blush POV**

The dummy's head is knocked off and smashed to pieces with the force of my mace's blow. I whirl to strike the next one before I realize that I took them all out.

I consider training to be mostly just a habit now. I know I'll be able to win the Hunger Games. I've known it my whole life. So, today I'm going to volunteer, which I consider to be a synonym with 'win' in my case.

I glance at the clock, which reads twelve-oh-six. The reaping is at one. I should get going—my house is on the other side of town. It may be near the square, but the Training Center is a good distance away, on the outskirts of town. Luckily I won't need to stop for lunch; I'll just wait for the food on the Capitol train.

Most people have already left, so it's not like I'm deserting or anything. Everyone's excited about the reaping and wants to leave early so they can get a good place, closer to the stage. That won't help them though, because _I'll_ be the one volunteering.

I would throw one last spear, but that station's on the other side of the Training Center and I really should get going. I exit the rectangular gray building through a side door and start in the direction of my house.

. . .

Once I'm back at my house, I head straight up to my room and change into the Reaping clothes that my mother laid out for me. Black dress pants and a blue button-up shirt, with a pink tie striped in gold. My curly black hair looks fine, so I just leave it as it is. I go downstairs and when I see that it's twelve-forty-five on the clock, I almost trip on the last step when I start to run. We're pretty much next door to the square, but although the reaping officially starts at one, everyone always arrives there early. I yank the door open and hear it bang loudly behind me as I race to the square.

I sign in quickly and walk the rest of the way to the eighteen-year-olds' section. I kind of zone out as the mayor goes to the podium and reads the history of Panem. Like we didn't know it already.

My attention is jolted back into focus as Arillia, the escort, takes the mayor's place at the podium and cheerfully says, "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" She smiles again and keeps going, "It is such an _honor _to be here in District One! And now, for the exciting part, choosing the courageous tributes to compete in the Twenty-sixth Hunger Games! As traditional, ladies first!"

Before the name is finished being read, lots of people shout out that they volunteer, but one tall girl with long blonde hair must stand out to the escort because she's the one who gets to go up to the stage. I don't pay attention to her name, but soon Arillia moves to the boys' Reaping ball.

I yell out that I volunteer as soon as she opens her mouth to read the name. I lunge forward and stride proudly up the steps, onto the stage. I have a smirk on my face the whole time, and Arillia asks me what my name is.

"Calix Blush. And I'm your next victor," I say confidently.

"How _exciting!_ Two volunteers!" That isn't anything new; we have two volunteers almost every year. She must see how amazing I am and is just trying to be nice to both of us, not make the girl feel bad. The 'exciting' part must actually be me.

The anthem that is playing sounds like victory trumpets to me already. I'm winning this thing.

**Ravenna Maeve Baker-Carson POV**

My reaping dress is a tea length dress with dark green lace over a sea foam green liner. The sleeves are three quarter inch sleeves and are made of lace. On my hands, I wear a pair of white evening gloves. As for jewelry, I wear rose gold and ruby earrings, and a gold circlet on my head with a ruby in the center of my forehead. Also a gothic style, lace choker with a floral pattern, and four rubies in a cross shape with the fourth ruby hitting my collarbone. My shoes, black Mary Janes with three-inch heels, are already on my feet, even though I'm still straightening out my circlet.

I turn around and try to see in the mirror to check if I did my waterfall braid properly, but I can't see in the mirror when I'm facing the other direction. It doesn't really bother me, so I open the door to my room and step out.

In the kitchen, my mother tells me I look beautiful and offers me a plate of food. I take it and sit down at the table, where my father, a Peacekeeper, says, "Ravenna. You'll be volunteering today—_don't back down._ You're good with a dagger; you can do this."

I nod wordlessly. It was never in my interests to volunteer, but he's right. The first time he told me this, I was terrified. I suppose I still am, but less so. I tell myself that this can't be the worst thing ever. At least no one will have to die in my place. At least I won't have that horrible sense of guilt that I do when the female tribute from my district dies, when I knew if I volunteered, I could have prevented that. I _will_ have prevented that.

I think about this as I finish my lunch.

. . .

The air is cool, as it is nearing fall, but much less so in the packed square. Excitement is in the air, but not for me. There's this empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I feel as if I'm quivering slightly. I try to tell myself that it's nothing, that I can do this, but I can't help being nervous.

Somehow I hear every word of the dull history of Panem. I realize how tense I am and force myself to relax a bit, but as the escort, Arillia, steps up to the podium, I tense up all over again.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Arillia beams at us again and continues, "It is such an _honor _to be here in District One! And now, for the exciting part, choosing the courageous tributes to compete in the Twenty-sixth Hunger Games! As traditional, ladies first!"

Before Arillia even finishes reading the name, there is a burst of shouts to be a volunteer, and I work it up to add my own. My voice is clear and sounds much less nervous than I am.

Arillia beckons me to come up to the stage. The other girls clear a path for me, although a few are glaring at me. I mount the stage, and the escort asks me my name.

"Ravenna Maeve Baker-Carson, or just Ravenna Maeve," I answer, somewhat quietly.

The boy tribute is another volunteer, Calix Blush. He smirks the entire time. The mayor steps up to the podium again and reads the Treaty of Treason, of which I see no point. Everyone memorizes if for school as kids.

"How _exciting!" _Arillia gushes happily. "Two volunteers! Now shake hands!"

We do, and the anthem plays as we turn back to face the crowd.

**Yeah, it was short. Sorry about that.**


	4. District Two Reaping

**Epicness by Liv: Yeah, I know, but that's what got submitted! I told the submitter so, but the submitter said that she wasn't willing to change anything about Ravenna.**

**Julius Roth, 18, POV**

The day I have waited for my entire life.

The day the whole country will know of my courage.

The day I will begin my role as a tribute, and later, victor.

They day I will volunteer to represent District Two as the male tribute in the Hunger Games.

Today.

I flex my shoulders as I stare at the stage where the mayor is finishing up reading the history of our country. He ends and steps back. Trania, the escort, who is completely dressed in neon blue—even her skin is that color—and has way too many ruffles and poofs in her dress, comes up to the microphone and says brightly,

"Welcome to the District Two reaping for the Twenty-sixth Annual Hunger Games!"

Like we don't already know why we're here.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

Oh, they are. The odds are in my favor. I have been training since I was eight. Ten years. Almost eleven—I'll be nineteen in just a month or two.

"Now, I think I'll mix up the tradition a little bit this time! We'll be . . . choosing the _boys_ first this time!" She lights up and beams at us like this is the most exciting news in the world. Some fourteen-year-olds clap dryly.

Trania looks at us coldly for a few seconds but then gets back into her usual character quickly. "Br—"

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" I bellow, louder than the rest. Trania smiles and I pound to the stage.

"I'm Julius Roth," I say, not without pride.

The girl tribute is someone called Olivia Viont, who is reaped. No one volunteers—probably because people call her 'Olivia Violent' for a reason and they don't want to interfere.

**Olivia Viont, 17, POV**

Trania makes her little speech, and then adds, "Now, I think I'll mix up the tradition a bit! We'll be . . ." She pauses here, for a dramatic effect. I bet the Capitol citizens will be the only ones thinking it's actually dramatic. " . . . choosing the _boys_ first this time!"

_That actually isn't remotely interesting, _I think as she grins at us happily. Someone a few sections behind me claps dryly. She purses her lips in irritation that no one in the district is excited.

Trania forces a smile and scuttles over to the boy's reaping bowl. "Br—"

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" Seeing as how loud, tall, and muscular he is, it isn't difficult to tell who he is, even before he announces his name. Julius Roth—skilled with swords and hand-to-hand combat, obsessed with winning the Games. Sure, I've been able to beat him since before I was fourteen, due to my father forcing me to begin training four years before I was supposed to, at age four, but he's formidable.

Lucky I can do that because—"Olivia Viont!"

No one volunteers.

Why is no one volunteering?

I'm in this, then. Okay. I'm a tribute.

Nervousness is never something to show, especially not now. So I put on a smirk and stride confidently up to the stage.

. . .

"_Olivia Viont!" I was twelve. Sure, I'd been training for eight years, but no twelve-year-old, not even a Career, has ever come out of the Hunger Games._

_ "I volunteer as tribute!" an older girl, about sixteen or seventeen, yelled. Relief washed over me and I let out a huge breath._

_ That girl, Asha Rowe, was killed at fifth place in the Twenty-first Hunger Games in an ambush by the boy from District Seven._

_ She should not have _died _in my place._

_. . ._

Someone died for me at my first reaping. I guess it's only fitting that I go into the Hunger Games for that.

**I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO **_**SHORT! **_**I'll try to make the next one longer . . . **_**try.**_


	5. District Three Reaping

**Zachary Flint, 17, POV**

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" Florianus all but yelps. He's new at this job—this is his first year as an escort. I watch him from the seventeen-year-old section, slightly amused by his Capitol accent. He grins—admittedly creepily—at us, and bounces to the girls' reaping ball even before he says, "Ladies first!"

Some young girl is called, but an older one, around sixteen, I presume, volunteers. She says her name is Korina Carstairs—but the younger girl's name wasn't Carstairs. Not a family relation. Interesting.

Florianus crosses the stage, and plucks a slip of paper out of the boys' sphere of names. I don't even have time to pray that it's not me before—

"Zachary Flint!"

_Oh no._

My heartbeat races and I hold back a cry. I luckily remain silent as I make it up to the stage. I can see an image of my current state being broadcasted, and I look only . . . slightly inconvenienced. Not terrified like I am.

I'm already formulating a plan for the arena. Sponsors are a must, and I am quite sure that I can manage that. In the arena, I'll stay away from the other tributes, lying low, and keep moving. Always keep moving. That way I don't have a base, like the Careers, and so it can't be targeted. A few years ago, the Careers' supplies were destroyed—and because they were all in the same place, all of them were lost. The girl from Ten won.

Florianus's voice jolts me out of my thoughts. "Do we have any volunteers for Zachary?" No one steps up. "No? All right then, we have our two tributes of District Three for the Twenty-sixth Annual Hunger Games, Korina Carstairs and Zachary Flint!"

We shake hands without even being told and turn as the anthem begins to play.

**Korina Carstairs, 16, POV**

The new escort is dressed in a semi-normal green suit. Buuuut, then again he _does _have curly chartreuse hair and eyeliner of the same color.

And when he grins at us before saying, "Ladies first!" well, that just makes it creepier.

Since there are a few strands of my thick, long, straight black hair in front of my eyes, I take out my hairband and retie my ponytail.

I've made up my mind to do this months ago. I don't want anyone to die.

So why am I still scared?

_Because I'm going to die._

No. Ever since my twin brother died in the Twenty-third Games, when we were only thirteen, I collected metal scraps, wood and string too, and crafted crude weapons out of them. Axes. Throwing knives. Bow and arrows. Not as much as the Careers have, but I've been training for the past three years.

So when Florianus calls, "Lanni Digit!" and asks for volunteers, the words tear out of my throat.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

As I stand on the stage, I find Techa's face in the thirteen-year-olds' section. Her gray eyes, the same color as mine, ask, _How could you?_

Yes, we have parents, and yes, they take care of us. But ever since Flux died, she's been paranoid and terrified that she'll lose me too.

And now it's happening.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, and when I open them, I see Florianus looking expectantly at me. My eyes widen as I realize he just asked me my name. "Oh—Korina. Korina Carstairs." I try to smile weakly at him.

"Zachary Flint!" A tall, pale seventeen-year-old with short, dark hair and striking blue eyes strides up the stairs to the stage. Nobody volunteers, so Florianus presents us to the country and we shake hands before he tells us to.

I try to look away from Techa when Zachary and I have to face the crowd as the anthem plays.

**YAY! This one is longer! (Sure, just a tiny bit longer, but still longer!)**

**Feel free to point out when I don't portray your tributes correctly.**

**SO! Now I'm gonna start asking questions. I'm gonna be asking these every reaping now. I forgot on the first two, so you can just answer those now.**

**Which tribute do you like better?**

**Which one do you think has a better chance in the Games?**

**Who are your favorite tributes so far?**


	6. District Four Reaping

**I AM SO SORRY! IT'S BEEN FOREVER SINCE I'VE UPDATED THIS STORY! *dodges various objects thrown by the readers***

**Anyway, I DID update! However long it took . . . heh heh . . .**

** Masen Baxhaven, 15, POV**

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" trills Floriana, grinning. She's wearing a green dress that's less frilly than usual. "It's so nice to be back here in District Four! You know, my brother is starting as an escort in District Three this year! He's really excited for it, and I think we should all give him a round of applause!"

A few people clap, but not that many. Mostly the younger kids who're probably terrified that the Peacekeepers will shoot them if they don't.

Floriana holds back a glare; she wants more people to clap. "Well, ladies first!" She pastes the smile back on her face and her neon green curls bounce as she hops over to the girls' reaping bowl.

"Celiese Pike!"

I whip my head around to see the dark-haired sixteen-year-old. I should see who my competition is. Her eyes are wide, but she quickly hides that. Her movements are jerky at first, but they turn into a stride.

"Volunteers? Any volunteers for Celiese? No?" asks Floriana. "Then congratulations, dear!" she cries. "Now for the boys." She picks her way to the other side of the stage and sticks her hand in the bowl.

"Kai Williams!"

I wait until Floriana asks for volunteers. Then—

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yell. I make my way up to the stage, not even wincing from the bruise on my shoulder as my arm swings.

"Masen Baxhaven," I say before the escort asks.

"A volunteer! How exciting! Now, let's give it up for our tributes of District Four!"

A few more people clap than earlier. I can do this. Win. I don't want to leave Molly, my younger sister, but I had to volunteer.

No one knows, and I don't plan on letting them know, but I volunteered for a different reason than others. I volunteered to escape my mother. She's the one who gave me this bruise, and more that I'll never be able to count. I can't stay here. If I win, I'll be safe and Molly will never have to worry about that happening to her when she gets older.

And if I die I'm free, but Molly will be alone.

I have to win.

**Celiese Pike, 16, POV**

"Celiese Pike!"

Those two words.

She said those two words.

She said those two words that change somebody's life forever.

My life.

Celiese Pike is my name.

My breath catches in my throat and I let out a tiny gasp, but I'm sure no one heard it. I regain my composure and throw my shoulders back. My steps are jerky at first, but I get them under control.

No one volunteers for me. I'm fairly good with weapons, though—throwing knives, bow and arrows. I have a chance.

Floriana congratulates me, then a tall, sandy-haired boy by the name of Masen Baxhaven volunteers, who I remember is skilled with spears and axes. We shake hands.

"Now, let's give it up for the tributes of District Four!"

**Now for question time! *straps you to a chair and laughs evilly while holding up a knife* (That was actually Queen Vaara who did that, not me! I didn't do it!)**

**1\. ****Which tribute do you like better?**

**2\. ****Which one do you think has a better chance in the Games?**

**3\. ****Who are your favorite tributes so far?**


	7. District Five Reaping

**Ganas, it's been a long time! FORGIVE MEEEEE! Let's just pretend that it DIDN'T take a month to update . . . in my defense, school started and now I am forced to spend my time laboring over the horror known as _HOMEWORK_.**

**Kristy Lee: Sorry, I know last chapter was a bit too short. And this chapter I'll start trying to have less repetition in the POVs.**

** Joel Hanrads, 12, POV**

Today my parents come home from the power plant early. That happens only one day a year—on the day of the reaping. Usually they come home looking only a little sad, but not this time. This time, I have my name in the bowl.

It's only in once; I don't have to take tesserae, but that doesn't keep the haunted, terrified look from my parents' faces. They never had to worry about this before—and neither did I. I'm just as scared as they are, if not even more so.

_The boy from One came up behind the girl from my district, swung a sword so that it thudded into her shoulder. Blood streamed out . . ._

_ No!_ I yell at myself in my head as images from the Games flood my mind. _Don't think about it, you won't be reaped, that won't happen to you . . ._

_ The girl from Five, my district, screamed. One wanted to make it slow. The Careers always did. The girl gasped in pain, falling to her knees as One stepped into view. He slashed—_

_ Don't think about that! _I plead with myself as the rocks on the dusty road hurt my feet as I step on them with shoes that barely have the thin, worn soles on them. I take a deep breath and try to withhold the horrific scenes from my mind. I didn't know that girl, but what happened to her scars people for life. I was nine when I saw that . . .

**Deanna Alberts, 13, POV**

"We both know it's your fault," my father growls at me as I jump away, onto the edge of the stairs. "You know it's your fault she's dead."

"No!" I protest, even though I know that it's pointless to argue. I've been arguing about this for my entire life. "I didn't kill her!"

"But it's still your fault," he says. I blink slowly in relief that he sounds relatively . . . not calm, just less angry, but it's better than usual. He's not in a drunken rage right now.

I breathe in and out, slowly, holding back a blast of much stronger argument. "It's the reaping soon," I say. "I should get going." I stand still on the edge of the stairs, not moving, and he answers,

"Fine then," he snaps. "Go. Hope you get reaped—or volunteer, that's fine with me. Great, actually. Get rid of you."

I bolt out the door and run down the street, traveling the short distance to town in a few minutes, never slowing to a walk. On the way to the square, I nearly crash into a smaller kid in an alley but manage to skid away just in time, although I slam into a wall instead. I growl in annoyance and push off the stone wall, halting at the end of the check-in line. That goes fast enough and then I file into the thirteen-year-olds' section.

I guess I should explain what all that arguing with my father was. My mother died when giving birth to me, and my father blames me, to put it simply. And it makes it even worse because he wants me to go into the Games after he won at age seventeen. I suppose that if somebody's parents wanted them to go into the Games, they'd want their kid to win, but my father just wants me dead. Great parent, isn't he?

**Joel Hanrads, 12, POV**

I'm painfully aware of every word that the mayor reads, that the escort says. This year, Camilla (the escort) has on a multicolored _thing _resembling an atom surrounding her body, over her equally garish dress. I usually think that the Camilla's outfits are stupid; that's no different this year, and laugh about them after the reaping. But that was before my name was in the reaping bowl. Now I might not have an after the reaping to laugh at her dress.

"Girls first!" she pipes, already at the podium with the girls' bowl on it. It may not be _my _drawing but mine's right after and—_don't panic, Joel!_

"Deanna Alberts!"

**Deanna Alberts, 13, POV**

Camilla's voice rings throughout the square. My head jerks back as I suck in a rush of air and clap my hands over my mouth to keep from crying out. No, this can't be happening! My name's in _twice! _Only twice! My heart races as I walk forward and up onto the stage. No one volunteers—obviously. I doubt that Five's ever had a single volunteer.

"Well, congratulations!" Camilla says happily as my breathing grows ragged and my fists clench my beige reaping dress in an attempt to suppress my dread and shock. "And now it's your turn to be excited, boys!" She all but jumps to their glass sphere and she has to straighten her atom-like _thing _before she draws a name.

**Joel Hanrads, 12, POV**

"Joel Hanrads."

The world is muted. I feel dizzy, faint. Everything is in a haze. I can't move. The edges of my vision are black . . . it's getting closer, blacker . . . closing in . . . Peacekeepers charge towards me . . . I'm falling backwards . . . I think rough hands grab me but I can't feel them . . . blackness . . .

. . .

I awake with a gasp on the stage as I feel a cold hand on my arm. I flinch away and an acute wave of sickness, dizziness, and nausea washes over me. I moan and hold my head but look up.

A girl with thin, lifeless brown hair and round gray eyes is leaning over me. She was probably the one who woke me up with that cold hand. Then I remember that she's the female tribute.

"What happened?" I ask groggily.

"You fainted," she says promptly. I see a multicolored shape out of the corner of my eye—Camilla.

Oh no. I'm on the stage. I was reaped. I'm a tribute.

My district partner helps me up and another rush of nausea nearly overwhelms me.

"Now shake hands, and let's have a round of applause for District Five!"

**Now for the questions:**

**Which tribute did you like better?**

**Which one do you think has a better chance in the Games?**

**Who are your favorite tributes so far?**

**AND: Who is your favorite Career?**


	8. District Six Reaping

**I feel really bad about not updating in . . . was it five months? Let's just pretend that didn't happen . . . heh heh heh heh. . . .**

**This chapter there's a character that's just a name submitted for a bloodbath tribute, with no form or anything. He/she will not get a point of view. There will be a few chapters with these people in them. We only have one POV here.**

** Angelica Waters, 14**

"You're not _doing _it right!" I yell, tears streaming down my face, looking in the mirror. The servant got the hairstyle all _wrong! _"Go call for someone else who can actually _do _their job!" The servant backs out of the room, muttering under her breath.

I pull the hair-ties out of my blonde curls with a pout. How dare she try to mess my hair up so everyone thinks I'm ugly! The next servant comes into the room and I tell her _exactly _what I want.

"Braid my hair so that it's tight and pretty but it doesn't hurt at _all_, and then pile it up on my head like those Capitolites on TV. And there _has _to be a little curl hanging down on the left side of my face but not _in _my face, because then it gets annoying," I order. I bet I'm the only person who has servants in the district. Of course, I'm the only one who deserves them. "And don't make it look like someone dumped a bird's nest on my head like the _first _one."

After _forever, _the servant finishes. It looks okay, not perfect but the reaping is really soon and I have to show up, otherwise no one will see how pretty I am!

"Fine," I say. "It's acceptable. Now, I'm going to the reaping." My chair tips over as I stand up—careful not to mess up my hair, of course—and I stalk out of the room.

. . .

Even though this is my third year doing it, I still find it really insulting that I have to be in the general crowd at the reaping. With all the _common _people. I'm the mayor's daughter! I've had to suffer through this for _two years_. I think I've earned a place up on the stage by now! I deserve better treatment than _this_. I'm not even going to be reaped, just some poor, boring kid who isn't special in any way. I hold my head high but almost fall asleep during all those long speeches. I shouldn't be subject to this stupid stuff either! I pout and wonder when it's going to be over.

The escort—I don't know her name, but maybe I'll ask my daddy to get me a dress like her shiny yellow one—draws a name and I'm only half listening, but then I realize what she said.

"Angelica Waters!"

But she's got to be really bad at reading because there's _no way _that my name could've been reaped. Peacekeepers push through the crowd to get at me and I realize that they actually think that I've been reaped!  
"NO!" I shriek, bursting into sobs. "IT'S NOT FAIR! I DON'T DESERVE THIS! MY DADDY CAN PAY YOU IF YOU DON'T MAKE ME GO!" One really mean Peacekeeper picks me up really roughly and _won't let go, _even when I inform him that he's destroying my beautiful hairdo!"PUT ME DOWN!" I scream. "DON'T MAKE ME GO! MY DADDY'S GONNA SUE YOU!"

"Shut it, girl," the Peacekeeper carrying me growls as we reach the stage and dumps me on the ground. Hot tears streak my face—messing up my perfect makeup, I might add—and the escort glares at me before exasperatedly stalking to the other podium and drawing the boy tribute's name—Zayn Liken, some common boy.

"HE'S THE SORT OF PERSON WHO SHOULD BE REAPED!" I sob. "Not _me!_ Draw the girl's name again! I demand it! I'm not going!"

** Canutia Livigena, escort**

I must say, that Waters girl is _very _rude! She has no idea what an _honor _it is to be selected as a tribute for the Games! The Peacekeepers have to drag her into the Justice Building—and while I do not like this sort of treatment on my watch, it is necessary. I smooth my dress and smile at the crowd before asking if relatives and friends would like to say farewell to the tributes before they leave for the Capitol with me.

**And the questions:**

**Do you think Angelica has any fraction of a chance impressing the Capitol?**

**What do you think of putting in the escort's POV?**

**Who are your favorite tributes so far?**


	9. District Seven Reaping

**There's another bloodbath without a POV in this chapter; Yeww Zode.**

**Joseph Escalier, 13**

_Thock! _My axe thuds down on the piece of wood, splitting it easily. Five years of doing this to support myself and my brother Ardar . . . it's not much, but we're still alive, so it counts for something. He's only a year younger than I am, at twelve, and chops wood too.

"Close down!" shouts a supervisor. "Reaping soon!" I swallow nervously and pick up the bundle of wood I'd cut; haul it to a truck to be exported. I drop the axe on a growing pile of industrial axes and head back towards the fringes of town, towards the small house Ardar and I share. He's here already, recently changed into his reaping outfit. My work shirt is torn and stained, so I pull out the only other one that I own, which is just barely in better condition, and change into it.

"Joe?" Ardar asks, his voice unnaturally high. "I . . . I'm old enough to get reaped now, and I-I'm taking tesserae, too. What . . . what if—"

"No," I growl. "No. You're going to be fine. If—if you're reaped, I'll . . . I'll volunteer. You're not going into that arena." This seems inadequate. "I promise," I add.

Ardar hugs me. I smile into his dark hair. "You'll be perfectly fine. Let's go."

. . .

Perfectly fine. I only hope that's true.

Yes, I would volunteer for Ardar if he were to be reaped. He's my brother, after all. And half the district kids love him. Before he was old enough to work, he made little toys for the other kids. We still have a few of them in our house.

"Yeww Zode!"

My head jerks up—I hadn't been listening. Yeww—no, don't know her, and I don't think Ardar does either—she's blond, looks about fourteen, blends in with the crowd.

And then—"Ardar Escalier."

No. No no no no no.

_You promised, _I tell myself. _You promised, you promised! Volunteer. You have to. You promised. Do it. _

I promised. Ardar will _not _die in that arena!

_ Now!_

_ "_I volunteer as tribute!"

All I can see are the tears streaming down Ardar's face. _I didn't want to. But dying is better than watching you die, _I think.

**I HAVE DECIDED TO START A SPONSORING SYSTEM! *cue applause***

**HOW TO GET POINTS:**

**Submit a tribute: 50**

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**WHAT YOU CAN SEND:**

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**Meal: Depends on size (probably 40-70)**

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**SPONSOR POINTS LIST:**

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**smileygirl26: 85**

**Kristy Lee: 110**

**Imetc: 65**

**FireIceWind: 70**

**MaximumRideDistrict4: 70**

**Queen Vaara: 60**


	10. District Eight Reaping

**Kristy Lee: Yes, you'll be able to send sponsor gifts through reviews. And thank you for all the reviews!**

**There's another bloodbath, Patch Suee.**

**I'm also just going to change the POV to third person so it's easier to keep track of whose POV it is.**

**Also, tomorrow is my one-year FanFiction anniversary! I'll try to have the next chapter up tomorrow to celebrate.**

**4/26/15: I've changed it back to first person because my readers seem to like that more.**

** Alicia Wood (Lea), 13**

I frown at the yellow dress I am holding up. I had worn it last year for the reaping, but now it is much too small. I'd grown a lot in the past twelve months.

I head out into the front room, grab some of my stepfather's money, and head out of the door. It is a bit late to notice this, just an hour or so before the reaping, but I'd just assumed that my old dress would fit.

My real father had become addicted to drugs soon after I was born and died after constantly overdosing. My mother had been forced to marry into money to keep me and herself fed. My stepfather was unluckily obnoxious and old, but he had plenty of money and I was alive, so at least _something_ good came out of it.

I quickly arrive at the clothing store. It isn't that far because my stepfather's house is near the square. I find a gray dress in my size and smile at the shopkeeper as I pay for it. I trip down the steps leading from the store and barely keep from face planting on the cement.

When I get back to my house, I run back to my room and hastily pull on the gray dress over my striped shirt and plain black pants.

I check the clock. Oh no, it's even later than I'd thought! I shove a pair of shoes onto my feet, falling over at least once or twice on my way to the square. I rub a scrape on my arm as I check in. After filing into the thirteen-year-olds' section, I lean down and retie my shoes, which had never actually been tied in my hurry. A few others my age look at me strangely. I sigh and go back to rubbing my arm.

As the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, followed by the escort making way too many comments—in my opinion—I can't help but roll my eyes and snort every few phrases. _Honor?_ I think. _In dying slowly and painfully? In forcing kids to murder each other? I don't think so._

And then the escort is at the podium and I barely have time to hope that it wasn't me before—

"Alicia Wood!"

I barely recognize the name, hating to be called Alicia . . . but it was my name.

_No! _I think angrily. I can't do this—I suppose I could come up with a knife, but I don't want to _kill _anyone, much less be killed myself—

I clench my jaw and fists as I stalk up to the stage.

"Congratulations!" cries the escort, Latonia, and then she rattles off a few lines of praise that I don't listen to.

"Patch Suee!" I have no idea who he is. At least it isn't . . . well, I speak to many people and I consider myself kind, but I'm not really close with anyone. I don't have a brother or sister or anything.

My thoughts are interrupted by Latonia telling me to shake hands with Patch, and I do.

_So, Capitol, _I think bitterly as I turn to face the audience. _Hope you're happy, 'cause _I'm_ sure not._

**SPONSOR POINTS LIST:**

**Rosemarie Benson: 65**

**Epicness by Liv: 270**

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**kylegrav: 65**

**Jacob Yew: 50**

**CombatFighterDauntless52: 85**

**Frank Dupont: 50**

**Sasha: 65**

**Maxine: 50**

**smileygirl26: 85**

**Kristy Lee: 125**

**Imetc: 65**

**FireIceWind: 70**

**MaximumRideDistrict4: 70**

**Queen Vaara: 60**


	11. District Nine Reaping

**Yet another bloodbath this chapter, Theo Trate.**

** Erin Arber, 15**

I tap my pencil impatiently against my desk, glancing at the clock every few seconds. Today school will be released early because of the reaping, just before lunch. I've heard that most districts don't have school on the day of the reaping, but District Nine, the Capitol's breadbasket, does. Every year.

The teacher drones on, just background noise to me. Math really doesn't matter—District Nine's industry is _grain! _Sure, it might matter in Three or Five, maybe Six, but not in Nine!

One of the boys finally just stands up and strides to the door.

"Barric Furlow, sit down right now! School isn't out yet!" the teacher reprimands. Barric doesn't even look back, and a few more students get to their feet and follow him.

I smirk and rise, slinking around the edges of the ever-growing crowd. I doubt anyone notices me. Nearly the entire class is leaving now.

My father isn't at the house when I get there. Anyway, it's not like I mind the drunkard being gone. More of a stroke of luck that he's out.

I pull out a simple, pale gray dress and slip it unceremoniously over my head. I have a few minutes before I have to head to the square for the reaping, so I pluck a few long strands of dead grass and weave them together. I don't know what to do with it, nor do I just want to throw it away, so I tie it around my ankle.

The reaping's getting closer, so I make my way down the narrow path from my house, overgrown with yellowed, dying grass, to the town square.

All the shops are closed. I slip through the crowd and get my finger stabbed to sign in. District Nine's escort, Carvilius, is in a simple black suit, as he is every year. I've always been slightly relieved that my district doesn't have to suffer through staring at a ridiculously garish outfit. Well, that _I _don't have to suffer through staring at a ridiculously garish outfit.

Soon Carvilius is at the podium, and instead of beaming freakishly at us, he smirks arrogantly as he draws out the female tribute's name.

"Erin Arber," he says clearly, the name ringing through the silent plaza.

Me! My eyes sharpen and a razor-toothed smirk slides onto my face, matching that of Carvilius's. A few people in the crowd start to murmur—no one's ever _happy _about being reaped! What's wrong with this girl?

I couldn't care less.

The male tribute is a weakling named Theo Trate—he's a bloodbath for sure.

But _I _am not.

**SPONSOR POINTS LIST:**

**Rosemarie Benson: 65**

**Epicness by Liv: 270**

**willowbrookroad: 150**

**Korina Carstairs: 80**

**lifeinthemacro: 80**

**mystic47: 110**

**kylegrav: 65**

**Jacob Yew: 50**

**CombatFighterDauntless52: 85**

**Frank Dupont: 50**

**Sasha: 65**

**Maxine: 50**

**smileygirl26: 85**

**Kristy Lee: 1****40**

**Imetc: 65**

**FireIceWind: ****85**

**MaximumRideDistrict4: 70**

**Queen Vaara: ****290**

**IMPORTANT: To put it bluntly, I can't really write this. I'm busy with schoolwork and my other stories, and this story is just so difficult and, with this many POVs, will take a very, very long time to write. I _WILL _keep updating, but it's not my first priority. I just don't have much inspiration. Updates might be far between. Although probably not as bad as that five-month gap.**

**But there are still questions this chapter!**

**1\. What do you think of Erin?**

**2\. There is a meaning behind Barric Furlow's surname. Guesses to what it is?**

**3\. Any predictions for what the arena is? (Queen Vaara, don't answer this last one.)**


	12. District Ten Reaping

**Correct, Queen Vaara and Kristy Lee, that's where I got Furlough's name. And there's another bloodbath tribute, Ignus Beef.**

**Faye Kingston, 17**

I nervously rub the friendship bracelet that Ava had given to me several years ago. Ava, who is standing next to me, sees this and squeezes my hand, giving me a tight, anxious smile.

Up on the stage, our escort Sisenna Opulie is dressed in a crimson gown that trails on the floor behind her. There's this odd rufflike thing around her neck, curving up higher than her head. I can't really figure out how one would describe it.

Sisenna's all smiles, waving and giggling at my home, District Ten. She hops over to the podium and pretends to regard the glass sphere. She waves her hand tauntingly over it, fingering the slips of paper, torturing us all with the anxiety. Despite my usually cheerful and friendly disposition, I'm having trouble breathing.

Sisenna's red-gloved hand deftly snatches up a piece of paper.

"Faye Kingston!" she calls. "Faye Kingston, will you please come up to the stage?"

I gasp, a hand flying to cover my mouth. There's a sharp intake of breath from Ava as her grip tightens around my wrist like an iron vice. A sudden coldness hits me at my core. I don't want to pull away from Ava but I have to.

"Faye—" she starts.

I swallow and hug her. "We can talk during the—the goodbyes." Taking a deep breath, I jerkily force my feet to move in the direction of the escort, stage, and Peacekeepers.

"Any volunteers for Faye Kingston?" asks Sisenna Opulie. "None? All right, then—now for the boys!" She doesn't hesitate for a second. "Ignus Beef!"

A tall, scowling boy with dark hair clumps through the crowd and up the stairs. I try to smile at him as we shake hands, but he refuses to stop glowering silently.

**I am so, so sorry that this chapter is so short—it's just that I've written so many reaping chapters and simply cannot think of anything original.**

**SPONSOR POINTS LIST:**

**Rosemarie Benson: 65**

**Epicness by Liv: 270**

**Queen of the Mockingjays: 150**

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**kylegrav: 65**

**Jacob Yew: 50**

**CombatFighterDauntless52: 85**

**Frank Dupont: 50**

**Sasha: 65**

**Maxine: 50**

**smileygirl26: 85**

**Kristy Lee: 1****55**

**Imetc: 65**

**FireIceWind: 85**

**MaximumRideDistrict4: 70**

**Queen Vaara: ****305**


	13. District Eleven Reaping

**Finally, a chapter with two non-bloodbath tributes!**

**And this chapter is much longer than the last one. :)**

**Rosie Appleton, 14**

I sit on the doorstep, waiting for my parents and my seventeen-year-old brother Durian, who always arrive at our house later than I do on the way back from work. Well, it's sort of a house—one-room, with a kitchen and a bedroom separated by a thin, ragged curtain. Usually we leave the fields at dusk, but today is the reaping and we leave before noon.

I would be glad for this break from the never-ending work, but the Hunger Games are far worse.

"Rosie!" I hear. I look up—it's Durian! Despite the looming reaping, I break into a grin and stand.

Durian hugs me and passes me a crescent-shaped roll made of dark, coarse ration grain, saying, "We got full pay today, even though it's not a whole day of work. Thought I'd celebrate."

"Thanks," I say. "But I'll eat after the reaping—I don't think I'll be able to keep anything down."

He shrugs and wolfs down his own roll before reminding me to get into my reaping clothes. My work clothes are torn and stained.

I pull on a light green dress. It's a little small, but it's not like we can afford anything new. My parents have arrived by the time I come back outside.

Durian holds my hand as we walk down the dusty road to the town square. It's not that hard to tell that we're related—dark hair, eyes, and skin; rail-thin; and the same smiles (which you only see when we're with each other).

**Nathan Howler, 18**

The Hunger Games are the only thing I hate more than the Peacekeepers, and that's some competition.

Even now, I am watching the so-called Peacekeepers beat a man to within an inch of his life.

And one of those Peacekeepers is my own father.

He uses the whips on everyone, not even sparing his family. My older brother Samson and I have been the victim of lashes far too many times, and the scars crisscrossing our backs are proof. I'm just glad that my eleven-year-old sister Camy has never been beaten like that.

One time I nearly snapped. I'd been muttering curses under my breath, and only through the words of my mother was I able to restrain myself from retaliating.

District Eleven seems like a nice enough place, with its fresh air and lush trees. That is, until you see how little of that we get.

See the children on the street, sunburned from being forced to work in the blistering sun, scarred from the whips of Peacekeepers.

See the starving, those who work themselves to death from five a.m. until midnight just to scrape a stale crust of bread for their family of four children, who slowly die off from the lack of food.

That is District Eleven.

And then see the arena—brutal, bloody, agonizing deaths; the Capitol treating it like a festivity, cheering the murderers on; forced to murder for your own survival. . . .

The Games make this hellhole of a district seem like it's peaceful.

**Rosie Appleton, 14**

In the square, Cicerius is bouncing up and down impatiently on the balls of his feet as the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. When the mayor finishes, the purple-skinned escort all but runs full-out to the podium.

"Welcome, District Eleven, to the reaping of the Twenty-Sixth Annual Hunger Games!" he pipes. His garish violet skin glints in the light of the sun and cameras, painful to the eye. "Now, to choose our beautiful female tribute to represent this beautiful district!"

Clearly he knows very little of my district's poor status.

"Congratulations to . . . Rosie Appleton!" shouts Cicerius.

I let out a sharp gasp and a tear slides out of my eye (by the way, blinking does not help to keep tears back). I try not to outwardly make a big deal, but I don't look up at the cameras to see if it works.

**Nathan Howler, 18**

"Lovely!" chirps freakish Cicerius as a thin, sad-eyed girl, like so many in this district, hesitantly steps up to the stage.

"And for our handsome male tribute . . . Nathan Howler!"

My only thought is that while I'm glad to be away from my father . . . Camy and Samson and Mom will be left at his mercy, of which he has none.

**ONLY ONE MORE REAPING; THEN WE'RE ON TO THE GOOD PART! *cue applause***

**SPONSOR POINTS LIST:**

**Queen Vaara: 305**

**chasing-wonderland: 270**

**Kristy Lee: 170**

**Queen of the Mockingjays: 150**

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**FireIceWind: 85**

**smileygirl26: 85**

**Korina Carstairs: 80**

**lifeinthemacro: 80**

**MaximumRideDistrict4: 70**

**Imetc: 65**

**Rosemarie Benson: 65**

**kylegrav: 65**

**Sasha: 65**

**Maxine: 50**

**Jacob Yew: 50**

**Frank Dupont: 50**

**QUESTIONS:**

**1) Which if the two do you like more?**

**2) Favorites so far?**

**3) Should I write a train rides chapter?**

**4) What can I improve on? (besides writing longer chapters)**


	14. District Twelve Reaping

**I am so sorry. I haven't updated in months. No, don't worry, I have not abandoned this story. I've just been away a lot this summer and school's taking up most of my time now. I am so, so sorry.**

**And there is yet another POV-less bloodbath, Woodrow Brockhurst.**

**Lottie Rose, 17**

"Lottie!" my aunt calls from the kitchen, which is one of the two rooms in the small house, along with the bedroom I'm standing in. "It's almost one!"

"Coming," I answer, running a comb through my hair hurriedly before darting through the ragged curtain into the kitchen.

"Beautiful!" my aunt cries, smiling despite the worry lines creasing her face.

"Yeah right," mutters my cousin Lig, shoving an entire slice of bread, the meager lunch we receive today, into her mouth. I nibble at mine nervously.

"Lig!"

"I'm kidding! Jeez." Lig rolls her gray eyes at me.

"Oh, and before we head to the square, I have something for you," my aunt adds. She draws a small object out of her pocket, a hair clip with a flower on it. She presses it into my hand.

"Thank you," I murmur, sliding the hair clip onto my head so that the flower pokes out from behind my ear.

"Cheer up, honey," she says to me. "It's one in a million. You'll be okay."

If only that were true.

. . .

Gelasius Deveq, District Twelve's green-haired, green-toothed, aqua-skinned escort, probably decorated himself for District Four. It's clear that he's less than impressed with having to chaperone the coal district kids.

The mayor's speech somehow goes much too slowly and much too quickly at the same time.

Despite the fact that he'd rather be assigned to escort District Four than Twelve, Gelasius's speech is very enthusiastic and flowery.

"And now," he shouts zealously, "we will be selecting the two lucky citizens of District Twelve to be welcomed to the Capitol for their chance to win nigh-unimaginable glory! And, as always, ladies first! Give a warm round of applause to the brave, the beautiful, the amazing . . . LOTTIE ROSE!"

The sound I make is somewhere between a gasp and a scream. Oh no . . . oh, please, no! I might be emitting a nearly-silent keening, or it might just be the silence ringing in my ears.

Lig, who is the same age as me so she's in my age's section, helps me to stay standing and make it to the stage, whispering about how sorry she is for everything she's ever done that might have bothered me in the slightest way. I try to let her know that I've never held any of them against her and that I don't even remember half of them, but no words come out.

I'm able to speak again once I'm up on the stage, though my breathing is still sharp and fast. Lig promises that she'll come see me during the goodbyes, so quietly only I can hear her.

I don't know Woodrow Brockhurst, District Twelve's other tribute. He's from the Seam, about fourteen or fifteen.

In the crowd, tears stream down my aunt's face. Lig is staring tearfully up at me. My uncle is holding my baby cousin, who is upset after seeing my aunt's tears.

No . . . please no . . . no, stop this, just stop this, this can't be happening . . .

But it is, and nobody can stop it. I swallow and make eye contact with Lig once more before Woodrow and I are herded into the Justice Building.

**SPONSOR POINTS LIST:**

**Queen Vaara: 305**

**chasing-wonderland: 270**

**Kristy Lee: 200**

**Queen of the Mockingjays: 150**

**mystic47: 110**

**CombatFighterDauntless52: 85**

**FireIceWind: 85**

**smileygirl26: 85**

**Korina Carstairs: 80**

**lifeinthemacro: 80**

**MaximumRideDistrict4: 70**

**Imetc: 65**

**Rosemarie Benson: 65**

**kylegrav: 65**

**Sasha: 65**

**thaishark3: 45**

**Maxine: 50**

**Jacob Yew: 50**

**Frank Dupont: 50**

**WHOOHOO! DONE WITH THE REAPINGS!**

**QUESTIONS:**

**1) Favorites tributes? (You can include your own)**

**2) What can I improve on? (Besides writing longer chapters and updating more frequently, I mean about the actual writing)**


End file.
